The Prince and the Professor
by Ansketil
Summary: SSSS. A different twist on the traditional timetravel fic. Set during HBP. Severus travels forward in time and encounters the one person who can possibly understand. Not smutty.
1. Chapter 1

The Prince & the Professor

Disclaimer – Of course I do not own Harry Potter and if I made money off of this do you imagine that I'd write so infrequently?

Author's Note – So I'm experimenting with the classic time-travel plot. Severus's – ah- love interest, however, is gong to be someone rather different. It will be slash but nothing graphic as I don't write smut. This begins during _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. _The writing style is, I hope, fluent, as I am unused to first-person present POV.

**Chapter One – The Solution **

An internal monologue is a precious thing. It enables you to keep yourself company, discuss your secrets and tell someone about how deeply that person over there just wounded you – even though you will never admit it to anyone else. The monologue is a truly remarkable thing, in that it is self-deception at its best. The monologue creates the illusion that you have an _audience. _That someone in this world is on your side.

Even the great have their weaknesses. The truth is that _no one_ is on my side. That I am perfectly alone with my perfect audience: Myself.

That is why I am talking to myself in class: because no one else is.

I inhale the scent of the potion bubbling before me and rub my eyes with my wrist because my hands are sticky with chopped toad juice. I survey my potion carefully. The gently simmering navy blue liquid is the perfect colour. I squint down at it – the texture is too grainy. Ignoring the textbook, I scoop two tablespoons more dragon fat into the mixture.

Really, what those fools fail to understand is that instructions are always limited by variables! Take this potion, a particularly difficult brew. Goeforthe's Mistake-Reversal Solution. A quaint little mixture that allows the drinker to reverse time for five minutes in order to correct some critical mistake, like re-winding one of my father's idiotic muggle videos – it's perfect for Potions, naturally. It depends greatly on the temperature of the fire conjured underneath the cauldron. Now the spells cast by teenage wizards are highly unreliable! Most will fail simply because the heat under their cauldrons is too hot or too cold. Nothing in the class text makes reference to this.

I watch my potion achieve perfection. That's what I love about potions. Using basic logic it is possible to create moments when your life is –

"Hey Snivellus!"

Steaming blue potion rushes up at me and I –

There is a clang, the feel of scalding pewter, I can't breathe, and I can hear screams. I roll out onto the hard dungeon floor, which is slick with spilt potion. _My spilt potion. _One of those idiotic Gryffindors has ruined two months of preparation!

I refuse to open my eyes. I'm quite comfortable on the floor, really - I am - I'll just pretend to be dead, as dead as Black wanted me to be last year. Let them worry, I –

_- I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry – I REFUSE TO LET THEM SEE ME CRY!_

"Professor Slughorn?" a quavering voice nearby asks "Did… did anyone else ever have anyone… erm… _appear_ in their Mistake-Reversal Solution?"

_What?_

"Er… no, Mr Weasley, I believe that you have, um, set the precedent, as it were."

_Appear in someone else's cauldron? And there is no one called Weasley in my class!_

I must have drunk too much of the potion – perhaps this is an earlier class? But only sixth-year N.E.W.T classes cover the Reversal Solution, and there is only one this year. _Have I gone further back in time?_

A hand touches me on the shoulder and, much to my chagrin, I flinch.

"He's wearing Slytherin robes, Professor!"

_Five points to the idiot with good eyesight._

I decide to open my eyes - a close-up of Slughorn's nostrils – exactly what I wanted to see. Wait, his moustache seemed greyer, his beefy face more… lined.

"What are you doing here, m'boy?"

Could I have imbibed so much mistake-reversal solution that the opposite effect has taken place? Dagworth-Granger's theorem at work! Strangely, it made me feel better knowing that I had just proven a well-known theory regarding Goeforthe's famous brew.

"Oh you know me, sir." I said dryly, "I _always_ travel by cauldron."

A slight titter ran around the class. That proves it. No one who knew me in school would have laughed at one of my witticisms. It would have been far too un-cool – wretched word.

"That may be, that may be…" A plump hand hauled me to my feet. Registering the fact that I am completely coated in blue potion, I reach into my pocket for my wand – thank Merlin it remains whole!

But Slughorn beat me to it. A tap on the chest and I am dry and free of blue gunk - I am not, however, free of the sweaty hand that retains an iron grip on the fingers of my left hand, already burnt from the cauldron.

"Continue with your potions, please. Weasley - it's too late to start again - watch how Mr Potter does it."

_Potter? _The hated name – one which it has been my dubious honour to loath with a vengeance since first year. Could it be his -?

"Come on," the Professor drags me out of the class and down the hall and knocks on the door of his office.

_Why would a teacher knock at their own office door? This was the office designated to the Head of Slytherin House, was it not?_

"Enter," calls a voice from within.

Slughorn pushed the door open and I found myself staring at shelves and shelves of preserving jars, containing all manner of rare ingredients. The effect was pleasantly macabre. Surely that was a golden snidgit on the top shelf? And wasn't that a jar of Chimaera eyes – that practically was the definition of black market! I have dreamt of owning a collection such as this.

Then I catch sight of the man seated at the office desk. And I know. Once glance and I know: shoulder-length, black hair, a hooked nose, a sallow complexion and eyes so black that the pupil is hardly distinguishable from the iris.

"Severus," Slughorn says, his voice oddly cautious, "this boy appeared in my class – I thought you might know something about it."

We stare at each other, the man and I, ignoring Slughorn.

"Indeed…" the man says slowly, "This is my son. He is also called Severus."

_Agree with me, _the eyes say.

"Father," I acknowledge politely.

Slughorn looks from one expressionless face to another. "I'll leave you to deal with him then," he blusters, "and I really must ask you to be stricter with your son. No more appearing in Gryffindor cauldrons. It's most disruptive.

The door closes behind him.

I feel the man reach into my mind. My late mother was a skilled practitioner of Legilimency – learning to defend my mind against her was something I learnt long before I even knew the proper name for what I was doing. But I do not block this attempt – instead, I feed my interrogator all the relevant memories.

"I see," the man says. "So you have proved Dagworth-Granger's theorum? Interesting…" He pauses, running a finger along his lower lip. "You have come twenty years forward in time. But _I _do not recall this. Therefore, we must assume that there is still another Severus Snape coping with a particularly unpleasant potions class."

"You are a Professor," it was a statement rather than a question.

"I am," the older Snape nods, "I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

We smile secretly at each other, like co-conspirators. And I am glad. My wishes have been granted. I have travelled to another place, where there is someone whom I can trust implicitly – someone who knows my deepest secrets, someone who understands me perfectly.

"Tell me everything."

S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S

I make my way into the Great Hall. I feel very odd, knowing that there will be no one I know. Professor Snape – I have taken to thinking of him thus to achieve some separation between us – and I agreed on an acceptable back-story and went to see Professor McGonagall, because Dumbledore is apparently away from the castle at present. We told her that I am the professor's son, whom he has only just found out about because my "mother" never told him she was pregnant. However, she has just been despatched by dragon pox, leaving her sixteen year-old, home-schooled son in the care his new-found father. Touching, isn't it?

So here I am on the end of the Slytherin table helping myself to some mushroom soup. Used to introversion, I make no effort to socialize with those sitting near me. Doubtless the cauldron story had already spread, and my peculiar resemblance to Professor Snape is being discussed – but why not make the most of a mystery? Let them wonder.

_Black and Potter are dead. _That's what the professor told me. And Pettigrew was completely under Professor Snape's thumb – acting as his servant, even! How delightful! I almost spill some of my soup.

_"You must not do anything that will discredit me as a Death Eater. As you have already been to a few meetings, you know what to expect. During the holidays I anticipate I shall be called to bring you before the Dark Lord." A smile had played around the professor's mouth. "But of course, you of all people understand the game I play."_

"What's your name?" asks a thickset girl, interrupting my reverie.

"Severus Snape," I say, enjoying her obvious surprise, "I'm his son."

"Oh! I never heard he had any kids… why didn't you come to Hogwarts sooner?"

"My mother had custody."

The troll-like girl grins and slaps me one the back rather harder than I care for. Actually, I do not appreciate anyone touching me at all.

"Well, welcome to Hogwarts, Mr Snape. I'm Millicent Bulstrode."

She grins at me and then starts to slop up her soup in the most disgusting fashion. I lower my spoon and push away the bowl.

Nevertheless, discourse must be resumed.

"Bulstrode, what's the password?"

"Gragonsheeecth," she mumbles between mouthfuls.

"Pardon?"

Millicent gulps down her soup, "Dragon's Teeth."

I get up and leave.

S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S

So many years must have passed and yet the sixth-year boys' dormitory looked almost exactly the same. Same green and silver velvet quilts and bed-hangings, same mahogany furnishings and I even have the same bed – the one by the door.

There was a note on it.

_Here is your timetable. Unless you wish for a change from what you studied before, everything should be correct. Uniform and robes are in the trunk. The books under the bed are from me. I know you will make use of them. _

_P.S – The space underneath the bed has been warded against others._

_Professor S. Snape_

I lean down and poke my head under the bead, my hair flopping onto the floor. There were many books under there, reaching out a hand, I pick one at random.

_'Deconstructing the Dark Arts,' _by Sophia Mortlock, not a book a sixth-year ought to be reading, I flip through it. It had a lot of information about inventing your own curses and what constitutes a "dark" jinx.

"You're the guy who appeared in the cauldron!" I look up to see a tall, black boy with large, slanted eyes.

"Indeed."

"How did you do it?" the boy demands impatiently.

I have finished with acceding to the demands of other students. The professor had informed me that I know much more than probably any other student in Hogwarts. The work standard has gone down over the years, apparently.

"Oh, it's quite simple, you see," I say silkily, "I did it by _magic_."

The boy looks furious for a moment and I reach for my wand, but then he chuckles and gives me a tight smile.

"Suppose I shouldn't have expected an answer, really. I'm Blaise Zabini. Are you related to Professor Snape?"

"I'm his son."

The boy whistles and gives me a grin that could only be described as impish.

"Right – inherited his personality?"

"Why, of course, Mr Zabini."

At that moment the door flies open and a blond boy stalks into the room, followed by two lumpen thugs who make me think of Crabbe and Goyle. The blond could only be Draco Malfoy, of whom the professor and I had spoken.

"Malfoy, this is Snape, our new room-mate."

Malfoy stares at me. He really does look extraordinarily like his father.

"Snape?" he stared at me in confusion.

I let Zabini unload his modicum of information. "His son, apparently,"

Malfoy gives me something between a curious gaze and a leer. "So, you managed to apparate inside Hogwarts?" there was a hard edge to the question. His interrogation technique is pathetic.

"If I did," I say smoothly, "I would hardly tell anyone, would I?"

Malfoy gives me a sullen look. "If someone made it worth your while…?"

I give him a cold stare. "Knowledge is power, and that is something I prefer to keep to myself."

"Oh the Gryffindors are going to_ love_ you!" Zabini laughs.

This reanimates Malfoy. "You're right Zabini, just wait until Pot-head sees he had _two_ Snapes to contend with!"

"Pot-head?" I venture.

"His nickname for the illustrious Harry Potter," Zabini explains with mock-solemnity, "Chosen One and Saviour of Mankind."

I raise an eyebrow. _If he's anything like his father he's probably as bad as Malfoy seems to think. Still, if I can make life hard for James's son…_

Everyone began to get ready for bed, the others pestering me with questions about my mother, her lineage, et cetera. I fed them the same story I'd told Bulstrode and McGonagall.

Professor Snape had provided me with some basic, black, cotton pyjamas and a forest green dressing-gown that looks quite old, I suppose it belonged to him – well, technically it still does.

I draw my bed-curtains and ignoring the other sounds – Crabbe and Goyle (amazing, I know!) are whispering to each other, whatever can _they_ have to say that's so important? – I try to go to sleep.

As I stare at the green and silver canopy I hope that this is not some fantastic dream that will end as I let myself sink into slumber. _This is quite real_, I reassure myself. _Quite real…_

I have finally found someone who understands. I've found myself.

S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S

**Leave a review, good reader, and give me your views. **


	2. The Textbook

The Prince & the Professor

Disclaimer – Of course I do not own Harry Potter and if I made money off of this do you imagine that I'd write so infrequently?

Author's Note – Severus's first day in the future. I have set the 'levicorpus' incident BEFORE the Hogsmeade weekend rather than on the morning as it suits my storyline better. Please excuse any inconsistencies with the book as it is currently loaned out to someone else so I can't double-check. Anyone still in doubt about the pairing, take another look at the summary. Sorry about the time-lag, but university is not conducive to the writing of fanfiction.

**Chapter Two – The Textbook**

I open my eyes a fraction and stare up at the canopy of my bed, my vision still out of focus. What untold pleasure does today have in store, I wonder? Will I be turned a different colour, will my robes become transparent? I sigh, another glorious day in the life of Severus Snape, the half-blood Prince. I blink my eyes and sit up. I thought up that name before I came to Hogwarts, a child building castles in the air. The Prince never got thrashed by bullies; he always had a spell ready. None of the terrible things that regularly happen to me happen to him.

You see, the Prince is my ideal – everything I want to be, he is - powerful, brilliant and indestructible.

A loud snort knocks me back into the present - stupid Nott. I swear, one day I am going to slice off his nose.

I open my curtains. The face of Blaise Zabini stares at me from across the room.

_Great Merlin, it was real._

I feel like leaping into the air, shouting for joy and hugging Zabini. Naturally, I do none of these things. I don't even vary my expression.

"Hey, Snape - you an early riser too?" Zabini asks, pulling his socks on.

I nod and lean over the end of my bed to reach for the trunk provided by the professor.

"Malfoy thinks getting up early is practically sacrilege. As for those two," he waves a hand in the direction of the other two beds, "you have to prod them awake with a big stick."

I shoot Zabini an answering smirk and make my way to the showers.

S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S – S.S

Hardly anyone's about yet in the Great Hall, two Hufflepuff boys, a Ravenclaw group and a Gryffindor girl. I'm not really breakfast fan – or a lunch or dinner fan now I think about it. Food just isn't that important to me.

I got up this early in my own time in order to avoid… unpleasantness.

Idly munching a piece of toast, I wonder about the day ahead. What will this different Hogwarts be like? Well, anything would be an improvement on the last one really.

"Snape!" Dear Merlin, it's Zabini again. He slides in next to me on the bench.

"I wanted to catch you before class – just a warning – you might find the Gryffindors rather hostile. You know; so be careful." I almost choke on my toast; the idea of anyone warning me of _possible _Gryffindor hostility is too ironic.

"I can take care of myself, Zabini."

He nods solemnly. "Good, now – what's your sign?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sun sign, zodiac and all that."

"Scorpio…" I answer warily.

He takes out a little book. "I don't take divination but this thing is a life-saver. Right, _so…_ for today: 'Be wary of potential enemies, learn to quiet your inner frustrations; avoid unnecessary confrontations; do not go flying; you will meet a potential life-partner today so try to be at your best.' – well, there you are."

"That was a completely unexpected gesture, Zabini, I am touched and I am also leaving."

I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. Honestly, if these bags didn't have weight modifying charms, I'd be a wreck. And I was about to go see if I could find a couple _more _interesting books; see if I can "find" my way to the library.

Footsteps behind me, I whip out my wand. "Why are you following me?"

The Gryffindor girl from breakfast sighed impatiently, "I'm not. I'm just headed the same way." She shook her head.

_Oh… _

I don't respond, just keep heading up the staircase.

"Aren't you the person who appeared in Ron's cauldron?"

Clearly something I was going to have to get used to answering. "Yes," I snap, without turning round or slackening my pace. "And _yes_, I _am_ related to Professor Snape."

She mumbles something I can't quite make out and we continue up the stairs, waiting on a landing for the right staircase to move into place.

"So," she says, "did you inherit Professor Snape's potion making abilities? Our class is really competitive."

My eyes follow the staircase as it moves toward us. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I say as we start up the final staircase.

"Well, I'll find out later, won't I?" and she pushed past me into the library.

_Girls,_ I sigh.

Having browsed the library for almost two hours, thus making my satchel even more likely to split, I make my way to the first class: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Fortunately, it appears to still be held in the same classroom. Students line up against the wall, waiting. Quite a few give me curious looks, leaning over to whisper to their friends. Zabini waves me over. It's a little disconcerting.

"Hey, Snape, where've you been?"

"Getting therapy for my necrophilia, why do you ask?"

"Umm… are you -?"

I sigh, exasperated. "I was in the library."

"Oh, right – finding the advice helpful?"

"Indubitably; I won't survive without it now."

And on that rather low note our conversation was cut short by the arrival of Professor Snape. It's the second time I've seen him. The students go silent, clearly intimidated. He sweeps past us into the classroom, black robes billowing behind him. My mouth almost splits into a grin as I follow the others in. As I walk over to my desk (in the front row, apparently hardly anyone wants to go _that_ close to the teacher's desk) I run over the list I tell myself before every class.

_Do not show weakness_

_Do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself_

_Do not open yourself up to attack_

I take a breath and sit down, pulling out my books. I look down at the textbook Professor Snape gave me earlier, as he begins the roll call. I get out a quill and open the back. Dipping my quill into my ink bottle I write,

'_This book belongs to -'_

"Severus Snape,"

'_-The Half Blood Prince,'_

"Present," I feel people stare in my direction and close the textbook, waiting idly for the Professor to finish the roll.

"Today we shall continue to practice non-verbal spell work," the Professor's eyes scan the class, "Though I doubt that _certain_ students," I follow the Professor's sneer across to Harry Potter, "will _ever_ master the intelligence required for the most _basic_ silent charm."

The Slytherins titter unpleasantly. My chest feels tight. I feel like laughing and that fact is so shocking that the laughter dies in my throat. It's like I know what I'll get for Christmas in May and being able to watch myself enjoying the gift all year before I actually receive it. I curl my toes up inside my shoes and clamp my teeth together.

"So," the Professor continues, "I believe it is time we tried some non-verbal duels…He waves his wand and we are all forced onto our feet, the desks stacked in a corner. His liquid black eyes meet mine, '_Let's see what you make of Potter, shall we?'_

"Potter and Snape, I think. Everyone else get out of the way."

I turn to look at Potter. Yes, I can see both Evans and Potter in that face, currently eying me curiously. Well, let's see if he's as good as his father is – _was._

I stare though into those green eyes, reading his thoughts '_Well, there's only one non-verbal spell I've ever made work so I guess I'll try that-'_

There is a bang and I find myself hanging upside-down by the ankle. A distressing situation if I hadn't taking the precaution of investing in some muggle trousers last year. Pathetic. He uses one of my own spells without disarming me first?

'_Liberacorpus et expelliarmus!'_ I crash back onto the classroom floor and catch Potter's airborne wand. Hmm… perhaps… _No… don't show off unnecessarily,_

"Excellent, Mr. Snape," the Professor almost purrs, "twenty points to Slytherin."

Potter gets up off the floor staring at me sullenly. For some reason I glance over at Malfoy. The blond boy is grinning and whispering something to Crabbe.

"Potter," I say softly and hold out his wand to him. Potter snatches it away and glares at the Professor.

"Now, pair off... Mr. Snape, your presence makes this class uneven. You will practice with me."

_Yes! _We find a clear space. '_Now then, no dark curses Mr. Snape…' _the Professor's black eyes stare into my own and the corner of his mouth quirks up for a moment.

'_Of course not, sir,' _I smirk back.

'_Very well, defend yourself!'_

It's no use trying to see into his thoughts. I perform a blocking movement with my wand and jump aside. Duelling is like high-speed chess – you have to think like your opponent. Not so difficult in this particular instance. A couple of dark curses run though my head – no! No dark arts! I'm caught off guard as the Professor's spell knocks me across the room. _Dammit – think Severus! _

Perfect. _Alba oculi! _

A jet of white light hits the Professor's eyes, which glow white. I jump up as he performs the counter-curse to the blinding jinx. _Expelliarmus! _We must have both cast the same spell in that instant for we both flew back, landing heavily on the floor. I catch the Professor's wand and he catches mine. I look down. The Professor's wand looks exactly the same as mine: mahogany, twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring. The only difference is that his is a bit more stained.

The Professor gives me a slightly battered smirk and leaps up to separate two Slytherin girls who look like they're stuck together by their backs. I stand up and walk over.

"Your wand, Professor," I say politely.

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," he says softly, giving me mine.

The rest of class passes tediously, reading from textbooks. I look down at mine. It's weird suddenly confronted by all these blank pages – just the printed text. Having studied ahead of my year I had already filled all my sixth year books with scribble. Oh well, at least my memory is good. Now… there was that bit of transfiguration I was working on… The current form of the incantation is _alae umerum mutae_. But I need to focus on the kind of wings I want… Let me see…

The bell rings, I glance down at my timetable, _Potions, double period. _Excellent… my favourite subject – and no Black and Potter there to mess it up. The future is the best thing that ever happened to me.


End file.
